“Rise, forgiven, and leave all that was left to you. Rise, forgiven, to find all that is true. Rise, forgiven, for She awaits you.”
As the wood snapped and the body caved, Elena felt something break within her. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She sobbed quietly, at the foot of the pyre, watching the flames eat Ferma until she could bear it no longer. She turned away.
The inferno buffeted against her back, but Elena looked to the desert. At the wide, rolling dunes, the ones that Ferma had loved. The wind brushed her face, taking the tears from her eyes before they fell.
A hand touched her wrist, and without turning, Elena felt Yassen beside her.
The scriptures said that when a body was burned, its soul flew heavenward to meet the Phoenix. Elena did not believe in it for certain, but she looked to the stars—to the twin moons, still not yet faded.
Be at peace, my friend, she thought.
The flames sang in the low wind as Yassen stood with her.
Be free.
The guests began to arrive two nights later in a long procession of hovercars that trailed up the drive. Lights illuminated the gorgeous domes and the white marble arches of the palace. The ornate trellises had been newly washed, and they shone in the night as servants escorted dignitaries up the entrance steps. The great doors of the Agnee Palace, carved of wood and metal, inlaid with jewels, depicted the Phoenix, Her wings spread as if She would break through the carving and rise to the sky. They swung inward as the guests came upon the doorstep.
There were diplomats, lords, ministers, generals, and royal heads of state. The ladies wore lavish dresses with long trains or heavy cloaks threaded with gold. Some wore tall feathers woven through their hair while the daring ones wore tailored suits of lightning thread. When they passed, the air gave off a burnt, metallic scent.
Lords wore sharply creased coats with their family crests shining above their breasts. Generals donned their brass and smoothed their hair into neat side parts while the kings and queens glittered among them. They did not need loud ornaments or fancy dresses. They had their crowns.
Elena watched as Leo set the Ravani crown on his head. In the dark halls behind the ballroom, the Featherstone glowed. He wore a rich ivory sherwani with intricate golden embellishments around the collar and cuffs. Over his breast, the Phoenix brooch glistened.
Leo glanced at Elena, and she saw just how much he had aged in the few days since the attack. Deep lines ran across his brow. His cheeks were sunken and his eyes, usually a sharp steel grey, had dulled to worn metal.
He reached across and adjusted the simple gold band around Elena’s head. His fingers brushed her ears, hovering over the earrings.
“These are Aahnah’s,” he said.
She touched them, feeling the groove of the wings. They were jade birds caught in mid-flight, with gold in their eyes and beaks. They matched the necklace Leo always wore, the necklace her mother had gifted him.
“I thought she would like it if I wore them.”
“You look beautiful in them.” He gently touched her chin, smiled. “She would have loved to see you become queen.”
Servants bustled by, carrying large bouquets of flowers. Elena could hear the excited chatter of their guests through the doors. Today, all of Sayon gathered to see her, the young queen-to-be, the heir who would bring fresh life to Ravence.
Elena smoothed out the layers of her heavily embroidered red lehenga, the intricate beadwork glimmering softly in the dim light. The blouse curved off her shoulders as sheer layers of tulle draped down her arms, tumbling down like twin fiery waterfalls. Diya had rubbed her with almond oil until her skin shone like gold. Around her neck, she wore a pearl-and-gold necklace shaped like the Phoenix—an heirloom passed down from Queen Jumi. The bird’s head nestled in the dip of her right clavicle; its wings fanned out across her chest and curved toward her ears. From afar, it looked more like a golden tattoo than a piece of jewelry. Jumi had swapped the Phoenix’s traditional ruby eyes for emeralds, and Elena preferred it this way. They matched her mother’s earrings.
“I assume you reminded your guard to stay out of sight,” Leo said, and she nodded.
“Yassen will keep to his rooms.”
She had instructed him to stay in his wing. If their guests caught wind that he was here, she would begin her reign with more enemies than friends. Yassen had, after all, targeted or killed members of Sayon’s elite, relatives of royal families who now graced their halls. And she had heard of Yassen’s mistake with the Verani king. The old man was here now, drinking her wine and flirting with the young princes of Mandur.
Still, she missed him. Elena looked down and felt the ghost of Yassen’s arm brushing against hers as they lifted the logs. He had given her more strength than he realized.
“Your king is late,” Leo muttered, and as if on cue, Samson appeared at the other end of the hall.
He wore a long black velvet coat that brushed his ankles as he approached them. The coat stretched across his broad chest and shoulders, tracing the pattern of muscles that lay underneath. The necklace she had gifted him, a thick gold band of gems mined from the Agnee mountains, curled around his neck. When he reached her, she could smell the rich musk of mutherwood—a mountain smell.
Samson kissed the back of her hand. He wore kohl, and it brought out the darkness of his eyes against his raven-black hair. “You look beautiful.”
“So do you,” she said. He laughed, the sound of it lifting the shadows in the hall.
“The Jantari have arrived,” Leo said, and he looked at Samson. “Farin believes that you’re still his man.”
“And I will act like a dutiful servant to Farin, don’t worry. He won’t suspect a thing.” Samson winked. He turned to her and held out his hand. “Shall we?”
